Page 6 of The Stranger

“No. I don’t know if I have a home anymore, really. I’m sort of…nomadic? I don’t know if that’s the right word. I move around a lot. Hotels, short-term rentals. I don’t like to stay in one place too long.”

“Well, that sort of makes you sound like a criminal,” I tell her with a chuckle.

“I just don’t like to be tied down. I grew up in a small town, and we never left. Not to travel, not for vacations. To this day, my dad has never slept on a bed that isn’t his. He refuses. I hated it. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t—” She stops as if she hadn’t meant to go on like that. “It doesn’t matter. I just hated it. I want to see as much of the world as I can.”

In a strange way, I get it. I grew up in one place, and though I’ve gotten out and traveled, I’ve never truly left. Not in a way that matters. Home still feels like home, and I assume, someday, I’ll end up back there. Just like my parents and their parents and so on. But then again, I think there’s something to be said about building a home you love. Taking pride in where you’re from.

“Well, for this portion of your tour of the world, allow me to be your tour guide. This is Interstate fifty-seven. Or, as I like to call it, just fifty-seven. A very important part of the world,” I say, waving a hand toward the windshield. “Go on. Take it all in. I know the beauty of it must be truly astounding to you, but try to reign in your applause.”

That gets a hint of a smirk, an upturned corner of her mouth. I’ll take it.

The headlights land on a blue sign up ahead, telling us we’re nearing the first rest area in miles.

“Do you mind stopping up here?” I ask. “I need some coffee to warm up. Looks like you could use some, too. Maybe they’ll have a pay phone or something, and you could try to call someone?”

“Sure,” she says, rubbing her hands over her arms.

The rest area comes within half a mile, and I slow us down, easing over. The car rattles with a steady ch-ch-ch-ch-ch on the exit ramp, which is packed with snow and ice. It might’ve been a bad idea to stop in a parking lot that looks as if they forgot to salt it, but if I don’t get something to eat and drink soon, I’m worried I won’t make it much farther.

I pull into the spot that looks the clearest, though none of them are particularly great, and shut off the car. The cold from outside immediately begins to seep in, even before we open the doors. It’s as if the car has released a breath.

In front of us, there’s a single building with roughly cut stone on its exterior. There’s a warm amber light out front to make the entrance seem safe, but two vending machines behind metal bars contradict the appearance of any such safety.

“I’m going to the bathroom, then to get a snack. You want or need anything?” I look over at her while rubbing my hands together to keep them warm.

“No, thanks. I’ll go look for a phone.” She hesitates, obviously toying with saying something while my bladder burns for relief.

“What is it?”

“I, um…” Her dark brows pinch together in thought. “Should you just leave me here?”

I stare at her, somehow understanding that she’s actually asking if I will leave her here. As if she doesn’t want me to, but she can’t admit it, even to herself.

“No.” I check my phone. “The cell service is still shitty through here. If you find a pay phone and call someone, I’ll leave you, if that’s what you want. But if not, or if you don’t want me to leave you… Tibby, you’re welcome to ride with me as long as you’d like. There’s no time limit here. Honestly, I’m happy for the company.”

She stares as if she’s trying to understand me—I can practically hear my mother’s voice saying, good luck with that—then shakes her head. “Well, hopefully I’ll find a phone and be out of your hair, but if not, thank you.”

I want to tell her she’s not in my hair and demand to know who has made her feel so afraid and unwanted, but I don’t. We just met. We’re strangers, and I don’t want to overstep. Or scare her away.

Feral cat, I remind myself. She’s a feral cat I’ve managed to lure a step closer to me. If I make any sudden moves, I’ll cause her to retreat. To hiss and run away, maybe claw my eyes out in the process. I have to take my time with her.

I push open my door and step out, blasted by the icy wind. Snowflakes cling to my eyelashes, hair, and skin, and I turn my back to the wind, stepping up onto the sidewalk and making my way toward the building with her next to me.

The sidewalk, at least, has clearly been salted, though snow is still sticking to the grass on either side. We make it inside the building and part ways. She goes left, and I go right.

The building is cool and silent, filled with shelves of brochures about local attractions. In the center of the room, there’s a round information desk, though no one is behind it. The lobby is dimly lit, but the hall to the bathroom is bright.

Inside, there’s a condom dispenser on the wall and paper towels thrown carelessly on the floor. The mirror is smudged with specks of soap and God knows what else, and in the stall, there are posters about domestic abuse and human trafficking. I read all of the writing on the inside of the stall, anything to keep my mind from obsessing over her. She’s a mystery, a giant question mark tied up in a little bow and suddenly thrust into my life, and I can’t stop wanting to unravel her.

After I’ve used the restroom, I head back out into the lobby, where I locate two more vending machines in the building and pull out a few bills from my pocket. There’s no coffee like I was hoping for, so I choose a Diet Dr Pepper and a bag of M&M’s as I wait for her to return from the hall she disappeared down.

I should probably get something for her, I realize, after I’ve torn my bag of M&M’s open. She didn’t have a purse on her, so it’s likely she doesn’t have any money. I could wait to ask her what she prefers or to ask her if she’s even hungry, but regardless of whether or not she is, I assume she’ll deny it. She said she didn’t want anything when I asked earlier, but I won’t be able to eat and drink in front of her without feeling like a jerk, so I should probably pick something out and offer it to her just in case. If nothing else, I’ll have extra for myself later.

Now, the hard question: what exactly does a feral cat like to eat? There’s no milk. No meat.

I smile internally at my own joke, then decide just to ask her what she likes, rather than waste my money with guesses. I don’t want to risk choosing something she hates or is allergic to, and if she couldn’t eat it, having an extra snack while she has none would only make me feel guilty.

Asking is the easiest solution. We both know she has to be starving. I’ll simply refuse to take no for an answer.